O Eclipse! Why waste my breath on you? Bad reviews will not slow you down – you are a unstoppable! You are a juggernaut of pre-adolescent fantasy and gray makeup. You have posed the question – how will art fare on the market if you severely restrict the capacity for intellectual stimulation? And the retarded hordes of romance-starved women have answered the call! How calculating you are. How many monkeys and how many typewriters did you employ?

Dear Bella! How disappointed you will be when you discover that Edward can’t achieve a chubby. How you must have dreamed of doing battle with that chubby! Slaying the chubby night after night! But the dragon has long been dead. He is decomposing. How long and melancholy your wedding night will be. Were you convinced there was another reason he could not have vampire babies? Did you think he was shooting blanks? Did you think you would become a barren woman? Those would be favorable scenarios. Alas, the man only enjoys coming in his pants. Perhaps if your vagina was on his leg you could work something out. But no such luck.

It crossed my mind the Twilight Saga will become that series that people watch twenty years from now ironically – for their very badness. And in that scenario, you with your syphilitic army of newborn vampires has achieved a camp value beyond the previous two. But until you age into something palatable you are merely boring . . . $2